


A Visit to Tarth

by LadyRhiyana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Bonding, Lannister Family Values, Lord Tywin is a Good Dad, No Twincest, Or at least he tries to be, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2020-12-14 09:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21013355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: “I’ve met someone,” Jaime said. “She’s invited us all to meet her family.”[Jaime, his siblings and his father visit Brienne, Selwyn and Galladon on Tarth.]





	1. Prologue and Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So, this grew out of the same vein of fluff as "Step Outside and See (Another World)". It's very much a WIP, and I make no promises at all about updates. 
> 
> Because this is a self-indulgent fluff fic, everyone is softer than in canon. Also there is no twincest.

**Prologue**

Early in the morning, the breakfast parlour at Casterly Rock was filled with natural sunlight. The glass doors opened out onto a balcony overlooking the sea below; the sound of the restless waves and gulls calling as they wheeled and soared never failed to improve Tywin’s mood. 

Joanna had loved to take breakfast out on the balcony. She’d loved tea and buttered toast and orange marmalade. And so every day, weather permitting, Tywin sat on the balcony and imagined that he could feel her presence beside him. 

_Sentiment,_ he would have said, once. But surely he could allow himself this one indulgence. 

** 

He was drinking a cup of tea, scrolling through the share prices on his tablet when Tyrion joined him. 

“Gods above, it’s cold out here,” Tyrion said, shuddering as the brisk sea breeze gusted, the silken Lannister pennants on the battlements above snapping and dancing against the blue sky. The golden lions looked almost alive. “I don’t know how you do this every day.”

“Fresh air is good for you.” Tywin peered over the rim of his glasses at his second son. Tyrion was wearing dark sunglasses, and had loaded his plate with toast, eggs, bacon and hash browns. “What was it this time? Wine? Weed?” 

“Both,” Tyrion said, cheerfully. “Congratulate me, Father. I’ve made my first million.” He bit into a slice of toast. 

Tyrion was sixteen, now, still as insolent and difficult as ever. But Tywin was beginning to believe that of all his children, it was his youngest who had inherited his own genius. 

It was a bitter pill to swallow. But before her death, Joanna had begged him not to blame the child, and Tywin had promised her – 

“Your first million, little brother,” Jaime said, emerging from the breakfast room with his own plate. “Congratulations.” Tyrion’s face lit up. Jaime dropped into a chair and grinned over the table at him. 

Jaime’s eyes, Tywin noted, were bright and unshadowed. The wind stirred his thick hair and put colour in his cheeks. He was wearing old, faded jeans and a white t-shirt and he looked like a lounging golden lion. 

Jaime was about as lazy as a lounging lion, too, Tywin thought sourly. Oh, he was sharp enough, but he had no ambition; since his time in the Kingsguard came to an end (and the less said about that, the better) he had enrolled in King’s Landing University and spent his time dabbling in all manner of different fields.

_Finding himself._ What nonsense. Tywin supposed he should be grateful Jaime had not yet grown his hair long and gone off to Essos in search of enlightenment like Gerion.

“Well done, Tyrion,” said a cool, ironic voice. “You can play with money.” 

Cersei was dressed in show-stopping red, with towering heels, golden curls and glossy red lips. She, too, wore dark sunglasses, and carried not a plate but a champagne flute.

Jaime eyed his twin with disfavour. “You look like a cartoon,” he told her. 

Tywin sighed. It really was too early to face all three of his children at once. “Pleased as I am that you’ve all come to join me for breakfast,” he said, “what is it that you want?” 

“I’ve met someone,” Jaime said. “She’s invited us all to meet her family on Tarth.” 

**

**Chapter One**

**

Jaime called when she was in the middle of breakfast. Smiling a little to herself, Brienne picked up her phone and her morning cup of tea and stepped outside, onto the deck, out of the range of Galladon’s grinning curiosity. 

“Well?” she asked, smiling out over the calm blue sea. Her father’s old, worn house had a spectacular view of the cliffs and the sapphire blue waters of Evenfall Bay. 

“They’ve all agreed to come,” Jaime said cheerfully. 

Brienne choked on her tea. 

“What?” she sputtered. “I thought you said –”

“I know I said probably only Tyrion would be interested, but I managed to get them all in the one place with my father in a good mood. So – we’re all coming.”

“Even your father,” Brienne said blankly. 

“He says he wants to meet the woman who has finally managed to drag my attention away from ancient weaponry and long-forgotten battles.” 

“Did you tell him how we met?” she asked. And then – “Your sister, too?”

He clicked his tongue. “Yes, and Cersei too. She’s not really that bad, Brienne. I know what the tabloids say, but you can’t believe everything you read.” 

Her heart sank. She looked around, truly seeing her surroundings for the first time in years: the old, comfortable house, shabby and worn, the old soot-stained fireplace, the scuffed wooden floors and the battered furniture, her father’s fishing equipment scattered here and there, mixed in with Galladon’s soil samples and her books. 

“Are you really sure that this is a good idea, Jaime?” she asked in a small voice. “I mean, my dad’s house is nothing like Casterly Rock –”

Jaime sighed. “I’ve told them that your family used to own Evenfall Hall, before the upkeep got too much and you moved to a smaller place. They know not to expect anything grand. And besides,” he said with superb egotism, “there’s nowhere else like Casterly Rock.”

Despite herself, Brienne smiled. Jaime’s mix of Lannister arrogance and complete indifference to his family’s wealth was always endearing. She could only suppose that the Lannisters were so fabulously wealthy that money ceased to matter at all – it was an abstract concept, as ever-present and invisible as the wind. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked, one last time.

“Of course,” he said. “What could possibly go wrong?” 

** 

Two days later she met them at the private airfield in Morne. 

The little sleek white jet – emblazoned, inevitably, with the Lannister sigil – made the sea-planes, crop-dusters and other aircraft on the field look like clumsy draft-horses beside a pampered sandsteed. It was a comparison that Brienne felt all too keenly, whenever she went anywhere with Jaime beside her. 

But for whatever reason, Jaime seemed to prefer her to all others, and after nearly twelve long months Brienne was finally beginning to believe him. 

Jaime emerged from the plane first, sauntering down the steps with lazy grace and striding over to slide an arm around her waist and kiss her. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that he had to lean up to do so; still, she laughed and gave him points for trying. 

“Well, that’s very touching,” a sardonic voice said. “Jaime, stop canoodling with your girlfriend in public. It’s unbefitting a Lannister.”

Jaime laughed softly, smiling against her lips, and pulled away, still keeping an arm around her waist. He turned her to face the man who could only be his younger brother. They shared the same golden curls – albeit Tyrion had an odd black streak – and wicked, laughing eyes, though one of Tyrion’s was black. 

“My brother,” he said, “Tyrion. Tyrion, this is Brienne Tarth.” 

Brienne leaned down to shake his hand. “Jaime’s told me so much about you,” she said. 

“That’s odd,” Tyrion said. “He’s told me nothing about you.” He eyed her curiously. 

Next came a woman who could only be Jaime’s twin sister, Cersei. Brienne had seen her in the tabloids, a wildly successful couturier with a string of affairs and scandals to her name. She had very sharp eyes, and her gaze travelled over Brienne’s form – her too-broad shoulders, her too-small chest, her too-long legs – with utter bemusement. 

“Good gods,” she said, “are you a woman?” 

Beside her, Jaime bristled, but Cersei wasn’t finished. “Don’t you have any clothes that fit you properly?” 

“Are you offering to design some for her, sweet sister?” Tyrion interjected. 

Cersei’s eyes narrowed and gleamed in the way Jaime’s did when presented with a challenge. 

“Maybe I will,” she said. 

And then came the third and last member of Jaime’s family: tall, blonde, with a close-cropped beard and a severe, hooded green gaze – Tywin Lannister, the lord of Casterly Rock. Here. At the airfield in Morne. 

He stopped to exchange a few words with the pilot – a villainous looking fellow with a nametag that read “Bronn” – and then fixed his gaze on Brienne. 

“Ms Tarth,” he said, with perfect courtesy. “Your file did not do you justice.”

** 

(“File?” Brienne hissed at Jaime later. “Do you mean he had me investigated?” 

“Of course he did.” Jaime looked surprised at her indignation. “Father has everyone investigated.”)

**


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selwyn and Tywin go fishing.

Selwyn liked the slow, comfortable pace of his life. He’d been born and raised on Tarth, and though he’d spent some time in the Reach in his youth – he’d met his wife there – he’d lived most of his life on the island. The people of Tarth were a hardy, self-sufficient bunch, weathered and practical and taciturn. 

The seasons came and went. The tides rose and fell. The fish came when they came. And there was no use worrying about things that couldn’t be helped. 

The Lannisters, though – they were sharp, restless and impatient, quick-tongued and quick-tempered, fierce and mercurial and brilliant, every one of them. They seemed like they came from another world entirely. 

Selwyn could see what Brienne liked in young Jaime. He was brave and loyal and filled with joy. Tyrion, though sharper and more cynical, had a kind heart beneath all his dark wit. Even Cersei, capricious and cutting, had a careless fondness for her brothers. 

But the old lion…! 

“Jaime said you took him and Cersei fishing when they were young,” Selwyn said, trying desperately to find some common ground. “Perhaps you might like to head out to my favourite spot one day.” 

Tywin eyed him over his glasses and made a noncommittal sound, but he did not object.

And that was how Selwyn and Tywin Lannister went out fishing on Selwyn’s old boat. Selwyn had brought two battered straw hats and an esky. He fiddled with his portable radio, but this far out in the Narrow Sea all he could pick up was either Dothraki bluegrass or classical music. 

In the end, they sat in silence, Selwyn wearing his straw hat and Tywin most definitely not, and focused their attention on their fishing rods. 

It was excruciating.

Finally, Selwyn said, “Your Jaime seems like a nice lad. When Brienne first told me his name was Lannister, I admit I was a bit worried.” 

“Oh?” Tywin spared him a glance. “And how long ago did your daughter tell you about Jaime? My son only told me five days ago.” 

Selwyn could understand why Jaime wouldn’t want his overbearing father to know. Still. “It must have been a few months ago.”

“Hmm.” Tywin squinted up at the sun and picked up the other straw hat. “And you didn’t seek to have Jaime investigated?”

Selwyn blinked at him. “Why should I?”

“Brienne is your only daughter,” Tywin said. “Surely you wish to protect her from harm.” 

Selwyn eyed the other man in bemused fascination. “Do you investigate everyone who comes into contact with your family?”

“Of course,” Tywin said simply. 

** 

After a while, their fishing became more companionable. 

They came home with three good-sized fish for supper. 

** 

Galladon took the fish from their hands and said that he would prepare them. “Jaime and Brienne are curled up together, cooing like turtle-doves,” he said. “I don’t think they’re aware of anything but each other. And Cersei and Tyrion are at daggers-drawn again.” 

Tywin only sighed. “My beloved children,” he said. “Without Jaime, they’d tear each other to shreds.”

Selwyn, who had two slow-tempered, patient, well-adjusted children who didn’t hiss and claw at each other – who could go weeks and months with only minimal, albeit friendly interaction – could only marvel at Tywin’s indifference. 

“I’ve become used to it,” Tywin said, in answer to the unspoken question.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even a cat may look at a king. 
> 
> [In which Galladon looks at Cersei.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm. In thinking of what might happen next, my mind conjured up the absolute crack pairing of Galladon/Cersei and I knew that I had to make it happen. *crosses fingers*

Galladon was six and a half feet tall. He was broad-shouldered and muscular, with blunt, homely features and big, rough hands. He was aware of the first impressions he usually inspired: most people thought him slow and dull-witted. 

Well, he did like to think before he spoke. He wasn’t sharp-tongued and quick-witted; he lived his life at a much slower pace than most.

Galladon worked with the earth, planting and sowing. Crops had their own timetable; there was no hurrying them, and no outwitting them. They couldn’t be bought, or persuaded, or browbeaten; a farmer – or an agri-scientist, his official job title – had to be patient, stubborn and enduring. 

None of which, he thought, could describe Cersei Lannister. 

She was glorious, uncompromising and brilliant. She was always working furiously on her tablet or her phone, stalking through the house in her body-skimming dresses and towering heels which made her taller than Jaime, and just at the right height for Galladon. Her green eyes sparked with fierce pride and intelligence and her lips were red as sin. 

She was like a Queen, proud and haughty and magnificent, and Galladon wanted nothing more than to be her subject, kneeling at her feet and worshipping her – 

For the first week of their visit, he tossed and turned restlessly in his bed, his dreams haunted by her golden beauty and her green eyes and her red lips. 

** 

She saw him watching her. 

She was wearing a killer black dress and heels, her hair styled in loose tumbling curls. He saw the impulse towards cruelty flit across her face, before she restrained herself; he saw the slow, feline curve of her lips as she sauntered towards him, her hips swaying. 

He couldn’t help himself. He froze. 

She leaned up to him, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body and smell her rich, overpowering perfume. Her hair was soft and sweet-smelling, and he wanted to reach out and tangle his hands in their golden softness. But her eyes were green, and sharp, and dangerous. 

“What big, beautiful blue eyes you have, Galladon Tarth,” she purred in his ear, her voice low, sultry and amused. “I can see everything you’re thinking.”

He stared at her, utterly at her mercy. 

She only smiled, turned and walked away. 

Despite himself, he let out a low noise of protest. She turned, cast him a sultry look over her shoulder, and smiled – 

Helpless, he followed. 

** 

It kept happening, not just once, not just twice or even three times. 

After the first time, when he went eagerly to his knees and put his mouth on her and she clawed his back like a jungle cat, she had only to look at him in a certain way and he was lost. 

Jaime and Brienne were wrapped up in each other, lost in each other’s eyes. Tyrion spent most of his time in his room, smoking weed and playing the stock market. Galladon’s father and Tywin Lannister spent much of their time seeing the island, or fishing; Galladon neither knew nor cared but it left him almost alone in the house with Cersei. 

He spent long golden afternoons in her bed, stroking his rough, sun-browned hands over her soft white skin, a peasant daring to touch a princess. He showed off his strength for her, picking her up and holding her against the wall, his shoulders broad and his muscles taut and flexing as he drove into her. He did his slow, thorough best to make her scream and thrash, cursing him for a lumbering ox even as she clawed at him and demanded more, more, more. 

_Yes_, he thought, _more, anything, everything._

Afterwards, if he were lucky – if it pleased her – she would lie entwined with him and allow him to hold her, to lay his head between her breasts and breathe. Sometimes she stroked his head, combing her fingers – her long nails painted crimson – through his straw-like hair. 

** 

She’d been married, once. There had been a string of lovers – on both sides – and scandal after scandal until the acrimonious divorce. She had established her own fashion label with the money from the settlement; the critics had scoffed and sneered before they were finally forced to acknowledge her style and talent. 

Through it all, she had held her head high, defiant and unrepentant, and had refused to back down, compromise or apologise. 

**

“Are you all right, lad?” his father asked, one morning. “Are you sure you’re getting enough sleep?” 

Galladon blinked. It was Sunday morning. He’d stumbled out of Cersei’s bed in the early hours before dawn and had gone down to his crops; it was nearly nine in the morning now, but breakfast had only just started. 

“Of course, Dad,” he said, trying not to look at Cersei. Despite himself, his eyes flicked across to her; she was wearing dark sunglasses and nursing something that was definitely not orange juice. 

He tore his attention away, only to find Tywin Lannister staring at him over the rim of his glasses, those Lannister green eyes cold and calculating, like a scientist studying a particularly fascinating insect. 

He flushed, a dark brick red beneath his tan. 

Jaime coughed. Tyrion looked up, his eyes narrowed slightly. He followed Tywin’s gaze to Galladon, and then back to Cersei, and his mismatched eyes widened – 

Cersei stared them all down. 

It was Galladon who shot to his feet and excused himself, mumbling under his breath – and fled. 

**

Brienne found him a few hours later, on the cliffs overlooking Evenfall bay. He was sitting down near the edge, pulling up tufts of grass and watching the wind snatch them away. 

She coughed and sat down awkwardly beside him, just as tongue-tied as he was when it came to discussing feelings. “Look,” she said, finally. “I was just as astonished when Jaime and I first –” she trailed off. “He was so beautiful,” she continued, “and I was – me. I couldn’t really believe it.” 

Galladon continued to look stubbornly out to sea. 

“The thing is,” his sister said slowly, “Lannisters aren’t just golden, beautiful creatures from another world. Beneath their money and their sharp wit and their perfect exterior, they’re just as human as you and I. They make mistakes. They have feelings too, and they can be hurt – and if Cersei opened herself up to you, even just for sex, then she took a chance just as much as you did.” 

Galladon flushed, again, and couldn’t meet his sister’s eyes. 

“Oh come on, Gal.” Brienne nudged his shoulder companionably. “You’ve hardly been subtle.”

“I’m not, though,” he said finally. “Subtle. Or calculating, or – or anything that Lannisters would approve. All I have is myself. My strength, my slow thoughts – I’m a farmer, Brienne. What right do I have to think I could even touch her?” 

“Well,” Brienne said, “Jaime once told me that even a cat may look at a king.” 

And then she snorted with laughter. It wasn’t Cersei’s soft, smoky laughter, or Jaime’s low chuckle, but a loud, undignified, uninhibited guffaw. After a while, Galladon joined her, his own laughter ringing out just as loud and jarring. They sounded like two geese, croaking and honking, or two loud bullfrogs, or just two stray cats, who dared to look upon the king.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion meets a girl. Tywin is sentimental, but still cautious.

Dinner had been simple: fresh-caught fish and rice, steamed vegetables from Selwyn’s organic garden. They’d all had multiple helpings, even Cersei who usually ate like a bird; no doubt the time spent with her shy, slow-smiling paramour had given her a healthy appetite.

She certainly appeared to be more content – or at least less discontented – than Tywin had seen in a long time. He eyed young Galladon speculatively, and wondered. Could the young man’s research be transferred to King’s Landing or Lannisport? Perhaps Cersei could work remotely. 

Things could be arranged. Tywin would ensure it. 

They were all seated out on the deck of Selwyn’s house, overlooking Evenfall Bay. Citronella candles were burning, the pungent smoke warding off mosquitoes; in the moonlight, the water seemed dark and mysterious and the soft shushing of the waves was very soothing. 

Joanna would have liked it here. She had always loved the sea. And she would have liked Selwyn’s comfortable house and his tall, homely children whose bright blue eyes could not lie, and who looked on Jaime and Cersei with such wonder and bemused affection. 

Jaime and Brienne were whispering together, their hands entwined and their eyes only for each other; Cersei and Galladon were more discreet, but they were definitely exchanging heated glances. 

Tyrion was on his phone, his attention on the market in Yi-Ti, or perhaps buying futures in Sothyros, or investing in a wild venture in Volantis. Who knew. 

“Tomorrow,” Tywin announced, “Selwyn and I will visit the docks. Tyrion – you’ll come with us.”

Tyrion made a humming, disinterested sound and paid no heed. 

Jaime tore his attention away from Brienne and leaned over to flick Tyrion’s ear. “Brother,” he said. Tyrion waved his hand like he was swatting away a mosquito. Jaime flicked his ear again. 

Tyrion looked up from his phone and scowled. “What?” 

Tywin cleared his throat. “If you wish to take an interest in Lanniscorp,” he began – 

“I’ll come,” Tyrion said immediately, putting down his phone. 

** 

Tarth had a deep natural harbour and occupied a strategic position in the Narrow Sea. The island offered a number of potentially lucrative opportunities for trade – and tourism – and was only waiting for the right investor to come along and take an interest. 

Tywin had very deep pockets. Selwyn had only to convince him to take an interest. 

Selwyn drove them down to the docks the next morning. They had originally been built in the late mediaeval period to accommodate merchant galleys from Essos; in the long centuries since they had fallen into disrepair and now required complete overhaul and modernisation. 

It was an expensive prospect. But if trade ships from Essos could once again call at Tarth – if cargo ships from Lannisport could berth here – 

“What do you think, Tyrion?” he asked. 

Tyrion, it turned out, had some surprisingly intelligent suggestions. 

Tywin let his younger son take the lead in questioning Selwyn. Perhaps he might put Tyrion in charge of the project; it would do the boy good to have some responsibility and real-world experience. 

From the harbour and the docks they drove to the blue waters and white-sand beaches near Morne. Selwyn and Tywin had driven all over the island in the last week, searching out potential tourist hot-spots; Tywin thought this might be the best place for a resort. 

“There’s good farming land in the hills,” Selwyn said, “and a rustic little village that holds colourful markets on the weekend – local crafts and produce, that sort of thing.” 

It was there, on that stretch of white beach, that they met a local family: a retired stockbroker who had bought a tiny hobby-farm after he retired, his wife who made pottery and hand-made jewellery, and their 16-year old daughter, tanned golden-brown, splashing in the shallows wearing a bikini. 

She smiled warmly at Tyrion, and waved for him to join her.

** 

“Well, well,” said Selwyn. “Fancy that.”

Tyrion was standing ankle-deep in the water, waves washing over his shoes, his eyes fixed on the girl. He was smiling foolishly, his shoulders thrown back as if he was trying to make himself taller. 

All interest in his phone was forgotten.

“I knew it from the moment I saw Rickard,” the girl’s mother said indulgently, throwing her husband a fond glance. “I knew he would be the one.”

Her husband coughed and shuffled, but smiled back in return. “Thirty years ago, now,” he said proudly. “Tysha is our youngest.”

“He looks like a nice boy,” the girl’s mother said. “Where are you from, Mr – er –”

“Tywin Lannister,” Tywin said, curtly. “Of Casterly Rock.”

The retired stockbroker’s eyes widened. Tywin was immediately on the alert. If he saw even the smallest flash of greed in the man’s eyes – 

But there was only a wary sort of respect. His wife, utterly oblivious, smiled and introduced them as Rickard and Marya Croft. 

Tywin shook their hands and introduced Selwyn and Tyrion, and said they were visiting Tarth on family business. 

“We’re just near Evenfall Bay,” Selwyn said, smiling warmly. “Perhaps you should come and visit us.”

** 

It had been a good day, Tywin thought, as they drove back to Selwyn’s house. The sun was making its slow descent into the west, and the dramatic coastline of Tarth was hazed with golden sunset light. 

He would have liked to take Joanna here. They could have watched the sunset together, their children playing on the beach: Jaime and Brienne swimming, Cersei and Galladon walking hand in hand, heads bent together, and Tyrion blushing and stammering as a girl kissed him on the cheek. 

“Father,” Tyrion said, with an air of off-hand indifference, looking up from his phone – texting the girl already. “I think we should invest in Tarth.” 

Tywin blinked, banishing the hazy golden fantasy. There was no room for sentiment in business decisions.

“Is that because you think it will be profitable for Lanniscorp,” he asked, “or because of a girl in a bikini.”

Tyrion went bright red.

Selwyn flicked Tywin a glance, half-amused and half-warning. 

But this was a lesson the boy had to learn. Tyrion had asked intelligent questions and had proven himself shrewd enough at the docks. He knew how to play the markets and how to handle abstract transactions. 

But did he know people? Could he look someone in the eye and judge their strengths and their weaknesses, their interests and their hidden motives. He was a boy, still, in the flush of his first infatuation – 

And love, Tywin knew, was the most powerful force in the world. 

“I do think it will be profitable,” Tyrion said slowly. “Even if we hadn’t met Tysha. There’s potential here.”

Tywin nodded slowly. “Good,” he said, turning so that he could meet Tyrion’s mismatched eyes. “Choices of the heart can be made impulsively and on the instant; choices of business require careful thought and consideration.” 

He saw the lesson sink in. 

Perhaps the boy would do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas on Tarth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon compliance? What's that? I have decided that there is Christmas in Westeros. And because I am Australian and I grew up with hot summer Christmases, I have decided that Tarth, too, has Christmas in summer.
> 
> Also, it appears that I have forgotten all about Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen. Let's just say that Cersei and Robert never had any children.

Long, lazy days and weeks passed. As year’s end and the holidays approached, the days grew longer, lazier and ever warmer, and Selwyn’s house began to fill up with people coming and going. Brienne and Jaime. Galladon and Cersei. Tyrion and his new girlfriend, Tysha, who drove over every day from Morne. Sometimes her parents.

[Tywin had ordered a rigorous background check done on them. Apparently they were exactly what they seemed: ordinary middle-class retirees. Tysha’s mother had been cautioned, in her wild youth, for possession of a small quantity of marijuana. There was no way Tywin could object to that, though.]

Jaime’s friend Addam dropped by to see what was keeping him so long. Podrick, one of Brienne’s students, came to deliver some books and papers. A stray couple of Galladon’s fellow agri-scientists fetched him off to a conference in Storm’s End and brought him back two days later, hung-over – much to Cersei’s displeasure. Two of Cersei’s painfully stylish underlings flew in and out twice a week on important design business. 

Suit-clad executives began to arrive from Lanniscorp, too terrified of their CEO’s displeasure to ask outright when he proposed to return to the office. 

**

**17 December**

**

“When do you propose to return?” Selwyn asked curiously. “Not, of course, that I’m in any hurry to –”

The corners of Tywin Lannister’s severe mouth turned up in an almost-invisible smile. 

“When my business here is done,” he said pleasantly. His eyes flicked to the white-sand beach below. Jaime and Brienne were playing fiercely competitive one-on-one beach volleyball, Cersei was lounging on a sun-lounge watching Galladon surfing, and Tyrion was frolicking in the shallows with Tysha.

“You should stay for Christmas,” Selwyn said. 

**

He brought the subject up again at the dinner table. 

Brienne’s and Galladon’s faces lit up. 

Jaime, Cersei and Tyrion looked much as their father had done when Selwyn had first extended his offer: incredulous, condescending, and terribly ironic. The resemblance between all four of them had never been so apparent. 

“Christmas?” Tyrion repeated incredulously. “We’re Lannisters. We don’t do _Christmas_.”

“This year,” Tywin announced, “we will do Christmas.”

And thus it was decided. 

**

**18 December**

**

“Gifts and all?” Cersei asked, looking doubtful. “You mean – not just money.” 

“No money,” Tywin said firmly. “No presents worth more than twenty dragons. Just like it used to be, when your mother was still alive.”

Jaime and Cersei shared a wistful look. Tyrion looked excited. 

They all pulled out their respective phones and tablets and went gift shopping. This close to Christmas, they had to pay through the nose for premium delivery, especially to Tarth – but what was money to a Lannister?

**

**19 December**

**

Unlike Casterly Rock, Tarth was so far south that the seasons were reversed and Christmas fell in summer, not winter. 

“It’s far too hot for the traditional roast and all the trimmings,” Selwyn explained. “Most of us choose seafood instead, or cold ham and salad.” His eyes gleamed. “I used to take Brienne and Galladon fishing, and we’d have crabs and fish fresh-caught from the bay.” 

Selwyn and Tywin went fishing again, and this time the atmosphere was far more comfortable. Selwyn fiddled until he came across ABC radio and the Test Match commentary*, and was pleased to see that Tywin, too, relaxed into the ebb and flow of it. They passed a relaxing afternoon on the water, two middle-aged men in straw hats talking idly of this and that: the breeze was just cool enough, the sun just warm enough, and the beer ice-cold. 

Selwyn’s crab-pots were empty and they caught only two small-sized fish. No matter: they could go out again tomorrow. 

**

**20 December**

**

Galladon went up into the hills with Jaime and came back with a small pine tree. Brienne and Cersei congratulated them with ironic applause; Jaime flashed his mega-watt grin and bowed, while Galladon protested that he’d been the one to haul it back to the truck, not Jaime. 

Cersei kissed him on the cheek and whispered something in his ear that made him go bright red. 

Brienne dragged their old decorations out from storage, and they all wound tinsel and coloured lights around the tree and placed baubles on various boughs. 

Tywin’s sister, Genna, who had flown out from Lannisport with some of the suit-clad executives, said that it was all very domestic. She gave Tywin a pointed glance, but he only looked at her over his glasses and said: “just so.”

**

**21 December**

**

Jaime flew out to King’s Landing on a top-secret errand. That night, on his return, he asked Selwyn’s permission to ask Brienne to marry him. 

Selwyn pulled him into his arms. “Welcome to the family, son,” he said. 

** 

Galladon asked Tywin’s permission to ask Cersei to marry him. 

Tywin only raised his brows. “You’re very welcome to, of course,” he said. “But do you think she’ll take you?” 

“I don’t know,” Galladon said. “I hope so.” 

“Then by all means,” Tywin said gravely. “I wish you luck.”

**

**22 December**

**

Tywin’s brothers, Kevan and Tygett and Gerion, turned up on Selwyn’s doorstep.

“Genna told us you’d turned sentimental,” Gerion greeted Tywin with a reckless grin. “We wanted to see for ourselves.” 

“You’re welcome to join us for Christmas,” Selwyn said.

“Thank you,” Kevan said gravely, but with a slow twinkle in his eye, “we just might.”

** 

**23 December**

**

Tyrion and Tysha took the ferry to Storm’s End to go shopping. Tywin’s pilot and general henchman Bronn went with them, complaining genially all the way; they came back hours later laden down with parcels. 

It was chaos, they said gleefully. There were people _everywhere_. Shops so crowded you can’t move.

Bronn’s expression said it all. 

Meanwhile, parcels arrived for those who had been wise enough to do their shopping online. 

**

**24 December**

** 

Selwyn and Tywin went fishing again, taking Kevan with them. Jaime and Galladon, Tygett and Gerion disappeared somewhere together, grown men united in ducking an unpleasant task. 

Cersei only laughed and flatly refused.

And so it was left to Brienne, Tyrion and Tysha to drive down to Evenfall Bay for last-minute grocery shopping. 

**

The rest of the day was devoted to cooking. Selwyn and Tywin came back with the fruit of their crab pots and their fishing, and Galladon and Jaime and his uncles, it turned out, had been sent by Genna to find a proper ham. Declaring that Cersei was absolutely no use in the kitchen, and correctly divining Brienne’s less-than-average skills, Genna took over – rounding up all the idle hands and putting them to work. 

Soon the house was filled with the smells of good food drifting from the kitchen, and as the sun set over the bay, Selwyn sat out on the porch with a contented sigh, listening to the bustle and the busyness within. 

**

**25 December**

** 

The house was full to bursting. 

Selwyn, Brienne and Galladon, Tywin, Cersei and Jaime and Tyrion and his four siblings, and even Tysha and her parents piled into the living room for breakfast and gift giving, complete with silly hats and family photos and sheepish, half-embarrassed smiles.

Bronn went to pick up a number of Lannister spouses and cousins who had invited themselves to the festivities. He came back as well with young Podrick, looking somewhat overwhelmed by all the golden Lannister-ness of his fellow travellers, and a stray suit-clad executive who had found herself stranded on Christmas Day. 

They all stayed for lunch, for more food than even the whole assembled group could eat, and a great deal of fruit punch and wine. Afterwards, the children went down to the beach to play and the adults gathered on the porch in the shade, enjoying the cool sea breeze. 

Jaime took Brienne into the garden and got down on one knee, and Selwyn and Tywin watched on indulgently as she laughed and threw her arms around him. 

When they came back they were met with cheers and hugs. Galladon engulfed Jaime in a rib-crushing hug. Tywin shook Brienne’s hand gravely, Cersei gave her a long, measuring look and a grudging nod, and Tyrion threw his arms around her enthusiastically. 

As the long, hot afternoon wound on, even the children exhausted themselves playing in the sea, and the guests slowly dispersed to sleep off the enormous lunch and recoup their energy after a very busy day. 

Selwyn fell asleep in his chair under the fan, deeply content. 

** 

**26 December**

** 

Galladon and Cersei went for a walk along the shore in the early morning. 

When he returned, all he would tell Selwyn was that she had said: “we’ll see”. 

** 

Slowly, the party began to break up. 

Bronn took Tywin’s siblings, the various Lannister cousins, Podrick and the lone suit back to the mainland, all thanking Selwyn for his very generous hospitality and promising to recommend Tarth to their various friends as a fabulous holiday spot. 

Tysha and her parents went back to Morne, Tysha darting back to Tyrion to kiss him swiftly on the lips. The tips of Tyrion’s ears went bright red, and Jaime laughed and twitted him mercilessly. 

Finally it was time for Jaime and Brienne to go back to King’s Landing, and for Tywin, Cersei and Tyrion to return to Casterly Rock. They drove out to Morne, to the airfield where Bronn and the Lannister private jet awaited. 

Selwyn shook Tywin’s hand gravely. “Come back anytime,” he said gruffly. “You and yours are always welcome.” 

Tywin nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up in his hidden smile. “I will get in touch with you, regarding our investment in Tarth,” he said. “And – thank you for Christmas. It was – good – to see them smiling again.” 

Selwyn hugged Jaime – not Cersei – and bent to shake Tyrion’s hand, and extended them the same offer. 

“Come back next Christmas,” he said. “We’ll do this all again.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Galladon and Cersei standing very close, their heads bent together, and wondered what the outcome of her “we’ll see” would be. 

He looked forward to finding out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * For those who are not Australian, from cricket-playing countries, or simply not cricket-mad like myself, cricket commentary of any sort - especially test cricket - is the ultimate in relaxing (even soporific) listening. The commentators meander lazily through anecdotes of great players and games more than fifty years in the past, discuss the weather and make comments on seagulls and the spectators, and every now and then something exciting happens on the field.


End file.
